You may find yourself in grander company this birthday dinner Norbert, up there with Dave Brubeck & Studs, Vaclav Havel … my brother Al? But Norbr’ – ya shoulda been here. We – all of us, Blei’s & Buff’s & Aunt Lorry & the Blei-Tribe miss you more than you would have imagined. You left us all – too soon.

And I really don’t know how to do this …
learning to live without the sense of your presence in the simplicities of every day life ~ the habits & routines created, moments I turn with news to tell you … the hardest time – 5:45, when I expect you to be coming in from the Coop. Not that we hadn’t spent time apart … but one of us was always on the road back. Always.

How do the rest of us sing our songs without the lilt that made them come alive? much less celebrate days empty without you? Or move through the favorite month of August when it echoes so much loss? These things we never want to learn.

So be patient (for once) until I get back to your side. Our picnics will be quieter now, but I’ll come sit in the grass beside you & recall the ways we honored our holidays – anniversaries & birthdays. For as much as you’d protest that you “didn’t want all that attention!” – you did. Never flinched as favorite restaurant people in Milwaukee & Door served up cupcakes & candles … protests rang hollow up north as well, as Tag-Along or Five O’Clock sang choruses of “Happy Birthday”, you – smiling like a kid.

You left us all too soon, so we’re singing our songs to you with all our hearts … forgive us if they sound a little off key.
~ your Jude

Birthday Gifts

We sit face to face center of the bed sharing birthday surprises.

A rose for you pressed impatiens for me a watercolor, photo of dawn strawberries and books A heart of gold, a truffle or two; backrubs and chatter your face next to mine in the morning.

The true gift is: Time to lean into hunger speak the secret language taste the sweet peace of Renewal.

So run us a tub, my hot lovin’ man fill it with passion fruit foam and sink in beside me. Joy bubbles forth You are the promise my life bargained for.

Hoarding

I want the shirt he died in. I want the clothes pins, our dishes, the last bottle of champagne …

I want all the books, love letters, the movies and our blankets and the time we wasted …

I want to hang the sheets, trim his mane fetch him coffee, bring home bird seed & go to breakfast at the Viking …

other Norbert Blei web pages

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The coop has flown

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Norbert Blei | 1935 – 2013

On the back roads of Door County again

Norbert Blei – 2012

Photo by Bobbie Krinsky

Norbert Blei – 2012

Photo by Jeffrey Winke

Norbert Blei – 2011

Photo by Sharon Auberle

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